


Catbread Underwater

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [10]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murray has a fever, and a plane to catch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> A nice little Murray h/c, because I just realized I was 8 stories in and hadn't done one yet. I've been so remiss.  
> 

"That was a total bust," Nick complained as they got out of the car. "We lost the suspect, Murray lost his computer—we're not even going to get paid."

"Yes, we know," Cody sighed. "We were there, remember? Hey, Murray, are you coming?"

"Yeah, just a second." He was still struggling to get out of the Jimmy, wishing his friends could manage to acquire a sensible car with rear doors one day. Cody went back to give him a hand, commenting idly that Murray didn't seem that upset about the broken computer.

"It's no big deal," he said. "I can get another one, and the data is backed up on tape."

But that didn't quite ring with Cody. He should have been angry over the carelessness of the kid who knocked him down and smashed the portable unit, or at least grieving the loss of a machine he'd spent so many hours modifying. He couldn't buy another just like it, and he of all people knew that.

But ever since the mysterious note that broke Murray's post-Quinlan depression, he'd been prone to odd mood swings. Some days he was happy and chattered on like his old self, and other days he stayed in his room, refusing company, or even food. It had been a rough couple of months, but not as rough as the three months that preceded them, so generally Nick and Cody didn't complain. They just tried to humor him as much as possible, reminding each other that neither of them could have weathered such a loss with any better grace.

Cody thought this might be more than another mood swing, though. Murray's pale face was flushed, which could have been chalked up to anger, if he were angry, and if his hands weren't so cool and clammy.

"Are you okay, Boz?"

"Yeah, Cody, I'm fine. I just didn't sleep very well last night."

"How come?"

"I don't know. I had work to do and it was hot in my room. I'm all right, really. Stop fussing." He shook off Cody's helping hands impatiently and went down to the boat ahead of his friends. Nick had waited for them, and now found himself left behind, as puzzled as Cody.

"Now what?" Nick whispered.

"I don't know. He doesn't want to talk yet."

"He's going to have to, you know. He's got to let this go eventually."

"So what do you want to do?" Cody asked tiredly. "Order him to stop being sad?"

"I'll settle for making him eat."

"Shit," Cody said, and for a second Nick thought he was referring to the odds on Murray taking a meal in his current mood. Then he looked down the pier and saw their friend on a collision course with Strider, the German Shepherd from three slips down. Murray and Strider were old friends, but he didn't seem to see him now, and when the big dog leapt to greet him, hitting him in the chest, they both tumbled into the harbor. Strider gave a joyful bark and began paddling for the shore, looking back a couple of times to see if Murray was following. He wasn't.

Nick ran down the gangway as Cody flung himself over the rail and dove recklessly into the water. He caught Murray, who was kicking weakly, just keeping his head up, and towed him to the planks where Nick waited to pull them out. It might have been May, but the water was cold and both were chilled to the bone by the time they got onto the sun warmed boards. Nick held Murray upright against his chest, clapping him on the back as he coughed up dirty water, while Cody lay beside them, trying to catch his breath and simultaneously calling down the wrath of God upon Strider's head.

"You okay, Boz?" Nick asked when the coughing had tapered off. Murray was shivering, turning the ring on his finger and not looking up. He'd never explained the ring, beyond saying that he'd found it among Quinlan's things, and it gave Nick a creepy feeling. "Murray, talk to me. Are you okay?"

Cody was sitting up now, pushing wet hair out of his face and moving closer to his friends.

"Let's just get him inside, Nick. Some dry clothes and hot food and he'll be fine, won't you, Boz?"

"Sure," he said dully. "Whatever you say."

They helped him onto the boat, and Cody went to dry off and change while Nick looked after Murray. A hot shower might have helped, but Nick had his doubts about leaving Murray to his own devices just now. Instead, he overcame the feeble resistance and undressed him, rubbed him down with a towel and helped him into his pajamas and robe. He couldn't help noticing that in spite of the cold water, Murray's skin was warm and he was already starting to sweat. When he saw that, it all suddenly became clear.

"How long have you been sick?" he asked, pushing Murray gently down onto his bed.

"I'm not sick."

"Yes, you are. You should be freezing, and instead you're sweating like it's hot in here."

"It _is_ hot in here."

"No, Murray, it isn't. Come on, when did it start? You've been listless for a couple days now. We thought it was just you being sad again, but it's not, is it?"

"No, Nick, I'm still sad," he sighed through chattering teeth. "See, I'm cold, just like you wanted."

Nick laid a hand on his forehead and found it hotter than ever.

"I'm gonna get a thermometer, Boz. You don't move, okay?"

As soon as he was out the door, Murray pulled the blankets around his shoulders and turned to the wall. All of a sudden he was freezing. But by the time Nick came back, he was hot again. Murray was enough of a scientist to know that wasn't good, but he didn't want to be bothered with it. He was supposed to leave tomorrow, ostensibly for a conference in Portland, but really for a weekend in Tijuana with Quinlan, whom he hadn't seen in a month. Last time he was supposed to be in Montana, he couldn't remember why, but he'd met up with the lieutenant in Cabo instead. Once a month wasn't anywhere near enough and he wasn't going to miss it for some stupid little fever. All he had to do was get warm…

Nick returned and coaxed Murray onto his back, sliding the thermometer under his tongue. It came up a hundred and two degrees and change, but Murray insisted it wasn't important. The pain might have been, but he didn't mention that. Nothing was going to stop him getting on that plane.

"What's going on?" Cody asked, coming through the door, still drying his hair.

"Murray's in denial about being sick," Nick said flatly.

"Oh. Well, let me heat up some soup and maybe that'll make you feel better. Is that okay, Boz?"

"Whatever you want," Murray said, clutching the blankets tighter. "And maybe a couple aspirin?"

"Sure. Cody, you get the aspirin and I'll put the soup on. Get him some OJ, too."

Murray drank the juice with his aspirin, but it was cold and set him to shivering again. When Nick brought the soup, hot chicken and vegetable, he started to sweat and threw off the blankets.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Nick said, pulling the blankets up again, "but maybe you ought to see a doctor."

"No," he said sharply. "I just got a little chill, that's all. I'll be okay in a couple of hours."

"We'll see. Drink your soup, and if you're not better in the morning, we'll call Dr. Huntley." That should have worked better than it did. Alan Huntley had been Murray's doctor for over a year, and there was a lot of trust between them. But at the sound of his name, Murray sat up and thrust the mug of soup back at Nick.

"No, I'm getting on a plane in the morning. I have to go to—to Portland."

"Not if you're sick, buddy. You don't want to fly like this, do you?"

"I'll be fine. Just let me sleep and it'll pass."

"Maybe, but Murray…"

"_I'm getting on that plane_. I've waited too long for this to miss it over a little fever."

"Murray, it's just a computer conference," Cody said patiently. "You go to these things all the time."

But Murray was turning the ring again and didn't seem to hear. After a moment, he lay down and pulled the covers up to his neck. When he didn't speak, his friends left the room.

"He's like Golem with that thing," Cody whispered.

"Yeah, well, if you died, I'd wear every piece of jewelry you owned," Nick said. He'd never read _The Lord of the Rings_, but he didn't need an explanation to get the idea that the comparison was bad.

"Gee, thanks, Nick. But have you noticed that he doesn't? Quinlan wore gold chains and silver rings, different stuff, but Murray only wears that one. I've been thinking maybe Quinlan bought it for him before the accident and just never had a chance to give it to him. Maybe he found it and figured out it was for him."

"Yeah, maybe. LT had bigger fingers, so if it was his, it wouldn't fit Murray that well. But I gotta say, I don't like thinking about it too much."

"Why's that?" Cody asked, pouring them each a cup of coffee.

"Because it's about the saddest thing I've ever heard. Can you imagine how Murray must have felt, finding that and knowing it was for him? That his lover would have given it to him if he'd had a little more time?"

"Yeah. But I'll tell you what bothers me more."

"What's that?" Nick asked, not sure he wanted to be bothered anymore.

"Well, Murray's always tried to be tough when he's sick. He thinks he's not man enough to get away with whining and bitching like you do."

"Thanks, man."

"Hey, it's true. But it looks studly on you, Nick. Really. It's just that maybe this time he isn't so much being brave as he's, I don't know, giving up."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Quinlan and that ring and him not wanting to see a doctor. It's been almost six months and he's still depressed. Not just sad, _depressed_, and I'm—I'm a little scared. What if he's really sick and he doesn't want to get better?"

"No," Nick said, slamming his cup down on the table. "That's _bullshit_. Come on, you heard him in there. He's talking about his stupid conference, planning for the weekend."

"Yeah, planning to get on a plane, even if it kills him. And for what? He's not even speaking at this thing; I checked the schedule."

"_No_," Nick said again. "He's depressed, sure. Anyone would be. But Murray's not suicidal. He never has been. People die and he bounces back. Hell, he bounces back better than I do."

"Yeah, but you never lost the love of your life, Nick."

"I might, if you don't shut up."

"All right, but he's not getting on that plane. I don't care what we have to do, that little guy's not leaving our sight until he's a hundred percent again."

"Now you're talking sense. We'll take him to the doctor tomorrow if he's worse, and if he's the same, we'll keep him resting in bed. He won't like it, but we can make him if we work together."

Cody nodded, feeling like a traitor to Murray, but knowing that Nick was right. If he wouldn't take care of himself, they would have to do it for him.

***

For the rest of the day, Nick and Cody took turns giving their friend soup and juice, doling out aspirin and helping him to the head, and neither said a word about tomorrow. His temperature was up a degree when Nick checked on him for the last time that night, and still Murray talked about catching his plane.

The flight was leaving at nine in the morning, but he wouldn't be on it. There was no doubt about that in anyone's mind but his.

Murray slept poorly, dreaming with his eyes open and waking himself calling for the one who wasn't there. When Cody went to check on him after midnight and heard him telling Quinlan that he was on his way, his earlier fears solidified into terrifying reality. He woke Murray, forced more aspirin and apple juice down his throat, and bathed his face and neck with cool water until he slept more easily. Then he went back to bed, quietly, without waking Nick. Murray was going to the doctor in the morning and they could talk about it then.

The next time Cody woke, it was to soft cries for help.

"Nick, wake up," he said, jabbing him sharply in the ribs.

"What now?" Then he heard it, too, and was out of bed in an instant, scrambling in the dark for his clothes. Cody turned on a light and they nearly fell over each other getting out the door, Nick in his jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, Cody still in the boxers he'd fallen asleep in. He was moving toward the stairs, toward Murray's end of the boat, when they heard the cry again, right beside them. He was in the head.

Nick shoved the door open and narrowly missed hitting Murray with it. He was lying on the floor in his pajamas, breathing raggedly, reaching with one hand for whatever help might come. He didn't have his glasses, but from the glazed look in his eyes, Nick didn't think it would matter much. He went to his knees and lifted the thin body carefully, shocked at the heat radiating off of him.

"Cody, help me get him up," he said, low and urgent. Cody stepped around them carefully, his eyes skating over the toilet as he moved. Then he stopped and went back. Murray hadn't flushed yet and it was full of urine, foamy and tinged with pink.

"Nick, let's leave him there for a minute. I'm going to give you a cold washcloth for his face, and you stay here with him while I call an ambulance."

"Really?" Nick whispered, suddenly deeply scared.

"Yeah." He leaned over them to wet the cloth and handed it to Nick. "See if you can find a position where he can breathe. That doesn't sound right to me," he said, and hurried up to the salon to make the call.

"Nick?" Murray sighed when the cloth touched his face. "Nick, I need help."

"I know you do, buddy. Cody's calling for an ambulance and we're going to take you to the hospital."

"No. No, Nick, I have to catch my plane."

"Murray, you're not flying anywhere. You can't walk; you're burning up, you can barely breathe."

"But I have to go. You don't understand."

"There'll be other conferences, Murray. And whatever's so important about this one, it's not worth your life."

"But it _is_. If I don't go, he'll think—he'll think I didn't care."

"Boz, whoever you're meeting will understand. If you give me his number, I'll call and explain."

But Murray was shaking his head.

"It's not like that. You can't—I can't reach him," he mourned, helpless tears leaking from his eyes. "If I'm not there, if he gives up…"

"Murray, who is this guy? Are you seeing someone? Is that why this conference is so important? Because you don't have to hide it from us."

Murray's glassy eyes widened with fear as he realized what he'd been saying, and he refused to say anymore. Cody came down to report that the ambulance was on its way, and then went to his cabin to dress before it arrived. Nick kept Murray partly upright, bathing his face, and asking gentle questions, but he'd already said too much.

It would be a long time before they heard Murray speak again.

***

"I don't understand," Nick was saying, trying to be patient. "He had a little fever and now you're telling us he can't breathe and—and what _is_ this shit?"

"Calm down," Cody said, only a little less baffled but quite a bit quieter. "I'm sure the nice doctor would love to explain." Someone had gotten Dr. Huntley out of bed to deal with Murray, who was quite adamant about catching a plane, but Nick was proving to be the bigger job.

"I know it's hard, but Murray's very sick. He's got a nasty kidney infection that I'd guess has been building in his bladder for quite a while. It's seriously weakened his immune system, and that little swim he took in the harbor was enough to start an infection in his lungs. There're a lot of mean little bugs in that water, you know. He's delirious and fighting us pretty hard right now. He keeps talking about catching a plane, and—well, I know you don't want to hear this, but he keeps asking for the lieutenant."

"Holy crow," Cody muttered. "I knew it. I just fucking _knew_ it."

"No," Nick said, still clinging to hope. "You just said he's delirious. I bet he's forgotten that Quinlan's dead, that's all."

"I don't know," the doctor said. "I tried telling him that Ted was on his way; sometimes a little lie for a good cause is better than medicine, but he didn't believe me. He kept saying he had to go to him."

"Fuck," Nick sighed, not giving up, but not reassured, either. "So what do we do?"

"Well, we can fix him up, no problem. The thing is, he won't consent. He wants to get out of here and catch that plane. Now, his fever's spiking into dangerous territory and he's clearly not competent to make decisions for himself. We need to get his family down here to sign off so we can start saving his life."

"Shit," Cody muttered, ashamed to be reduced to profanities but lacking any more useful words. "His family's not around here. His sister was in Peru, last we heard, on some archeology dig, and his parents are touring Europe for their thirty-fifth anniversary. I don't even know how to reach them; they just call Murray every few days from whatever country they happen to be in."

"Yeah, they were in Munich last time they called," Nick said. "I don't even know where they were going next."

"I see. Well, that brings up a whole other set of problems. If we can't reach his family, someone else will have to do it."

"Do what?" Nick said blankly.

"Power of attorney, right?" Cody asked. "Like Murray did for Quinlan?"

"So you're familiar with the concept?"

"Yeah. Doctor, is it really that bad?"

"Is it—_yes_, Cody, it is. His kidneys are going to start shutting down soon, and his lungs aren't getting any clearer. If neither of you will accept the responsibility, we'll have to wait until it becomes truly life threatening. The law will let us act then. But I'm telling you, as a doctor and as Murray's friend, you don't want to do that. Let's not take any chances with his life, okay?"

"Well, since you put it that way," Nick said, "what do we do?"

"Decide which of you is going to do it, and I'll get the papers together. Trust me, guys, you're doing the right thing."

"That doesn't make me feel any better at all," Cody whispered as the doctor walked away. They liked Huntley a lot. They trusted him because Murray did, and because they'd seen for themselves how well he handled the difficult matter of keeping Murray sane immediately after Quinlan's death. It was Huntley who talked him into taking sedatives when he couldn't sleep, and listened with sympathetic neutrality when Murray just wanted to talk. Nick and Cody tried, but their dicey history with the lieutenant made it hard sometimes. Murray had liked having fresh ears; a friend who had never met Quinlan and knew him only through Murray's loving eyes.

But now the good doctor looked too young to them, no older than they were, and maybe not the best qualified man to tell them they had to make life and death decisions for their friend. That vague distrust distilled a little more when he returned with the forms and said they couldn't see Murray before the treatment began. His condition was deteriorating rapidly and there just wasn't time. There was so little time, in fact, that Nick and Cody hadn't really reached a consensus about who would be in charge and Huntley was growing impatient.

"All right, I'll do it," Nick said, snatching the clipboard away. "But I'm warning you, Cody, if anything goes wrong, I don't want you saying it's my fault, just because I was in charge."

Cody stared at him with stricken eyes and he was immediately sorry.

"Nick, I'd never blame you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," he said, instantly contrite. "I'm sorry. I'm just so fucking scared…"

"Of course you are," the doctor said briskly. "But things are going to start getting better right now."

***

Nick and Cody believed the doctor's confident words. They sat in the waiting room, wanting to hold hands and not doing it because of the usual Thursday night ER traffic. Instead, they shared an armrest, their shoulders pressed together, and fought the urge for more. It was three hours before Dr. Huntley came back and said Murray was going upstairs, if they wanted to join him.

"See," Cody said as they followed him to the elevator. "Things are better now. He's getting well already."

But when they entered the room, the confidence seemed a little misplaced. Murray was still flushed with fever, sweat beading on his face, and he was intubated, as Quinlan had been. Neither could help thinking that Quinlan had died, and Murray, for all that he wasn't visibly broken, suddenly looked like he could, too.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Huntley said, reading their minds. "We drained some fluid off his lungs and he'll probably only be on the vent for a few hours, until the antibiotics have a chance to work. Once his lungs clear a little, he'll get better fast."

"What about his kidneys?" Cody asked shakily, stroking Murray's arm. He was bound in restraints, but they didn't worry about that. Quinlan had been, too, until the tube came out.

"Well, it'll be a while yet before we can expect a response to the antibiotics. We're giving him fluids, but at a very slow rate so his kidneys aren't overtaxed. I expect to see some improvement in the next twenty-four hours."

"And if you don't?" Nick asked, unable to hold it in. Cody kicked him and Nick kicked back.

"Then we'll try something else. There are other drugs, and so long as he stops getting worse, there will be time to try them. Trust me, guys. This is my job. I do it all the time."

"Yeah, no, we trust you," Nick said. He needed to gain back some ground if wanted his next request to be granted. "Can we stay with him tonight?"

"He won't wake up. He's been heavily sedated, both to keep him from fighting the tube, and to let him rest. The fever's hard on him, and he needs to sleep."

"Yes, we understand that," Cody said. "But it would make us feel better if we knew someone was with him every minute. We do this for each other a lot. We know how to help, and when to stay out of the way."

The doctor didn't have to think long before agreeing. It was against policy, but he knew how much they loved their friend and how important their support would be to his recovery.

"Did he ever stop asking for the lieutenant?" Cody asked suddenly.

"No. Not as long as he was able to talk. He seemed to think that getting on the plane would get him there. Maybe he was going to visit the grave."

"No, he was going to Portland. Quinlan was buried in New York."

"How sure are you that he was really going to Portland, then? Could he have just not wanted you to know that he was going clear across the country to see a grave?"

"Yeah, he might have done that," Nick sighed. "I sure wish he'd tell us the truth about this stuff. Quinlan's always been a secretive subject for him."

"We'll talk to him about it when he gets the tube out, and before they take off the restraints. We might get something that way," Cody said, only half joking.

"I'll leave that to you. In the meantime, talk to him about things that won't agitate him, and try not to piss off the nurses. I'll check back in the morning. Which is about four hours from now."

"Thanks, Doc. We'll be here," Nick said, moving around to the other side to hold Murray's hand. When the doctor was gone, they arranged their chairs and settled in for the night.

Murray never stirred.

***

Dr. Huntley came back after sunup, and again at noon, and each time he said Murray was a little better. His fever was dropping and his lungs were slightly clearer. But when, on the second visit, he turned down the pressure on the vent, Murray's O2 levels dropped alarmingly, and he said it was too early to think about turning it off.

"What happened to just a few hours?" Cody asked, his voice pained.

"That was just an estimate, guys. He needs to rest a little longer. I've seen him fairly often since the lieutenant passed, and I've noticed he's been losing weight. Has it seemed to you like he was sleeping all right?"

"No, he hasn't been," Nick said. "We sat up with him a lot at first, but then he said he was okay and he wouldn't let us anymore. Still, we could tell he wasn't sleeping, or eating, either. The thing is…" he said, pausing to glance at Cody, who nodded. "Back in March, this kid, a total stranger, brought him a note from someone. He never told us who, never let us see it, but things changed right that minute."

"Changed how?" Huntley asked with interest.

"Well, he wasn't totally depressed anymore. But he got—nervous—I guess. Kind of manic, sometimes. Started going to those conferences again, and designing new software. But still not eating or sleeping, and he stopped trying to meet new people."

"That's right," Cody interrupted. "When he was depressed, he was still a little social. He'd go out to eat with people we knew, things like that. But after the note, after he got—manic—he shut everyone out. His whole life is a mystery again, like when he first started dating Quinlan and he didn't want us to know."

"Well, it sounds like we'll have a few things to work out before he goes home. But what's important now is that he's very weak. The sedatives may be suppressing his breathing, too, so we'll see about cutting back a little this afternoon."

"Are you going to keep him asleep?" Nick asked, stroking Murray's face tenderly.

"For now, I think that's best. Maybe he'll be ready to wake up this evening. In the meantime, I'd like to see you two get some lunch and maybe a little sleep of your own."

"Is that an order?"

"Not yet, Cody. But it could be, if you don't cooperate. Remember, I'm still holding all the cards here. Humor me."

"Sure, Doc. I'll go get some lunch and Nick can go when I get back."

"And when will you sleep?"

"We slept in these chairs last night, we can do it again. Believe me, we've had a lot of practice."

"Good enough. I'll be back in a few hours, and at least one of you had better be sleeping."

***

The guys did better than that, taking turns going home for clean clothes and arranging for someone to watch the boat. Between Dooley and Mama Jo, the entire pier knew what was happening by mid-afternoon, and by nightfall it was on the news wire that Dr. Murray Bozinsky was dying at King Harbor General Hospital.

Nick and Cody saw the news in Murray's room and turned it off in a hurry, in case he could hear. They knew it wasn't true, but Murray might not. Huntley said that just because his fever hadn't broken and he wasn't able to breathe on his own, that didn't mean they were giving up, and Murray mustn't think they were. It was still very early. But Murray was famous and the rumors of his impending demise were good copy for the reporters, who were even then gathering outside.

Murray and his friends were protected from the circus setting up downstairs. The nurses began bringing Nick and Cody meals in the room, and Dooley was tasked to bring things from home so they wouldn't have to leave, as well as spread the truth among their neighbors. Not that truth spreading was his natural forte, but for Murray, he would do anything.

The second night passed more slowly than the first. Cody slept fitfully in his chair, laying his upper body on the bed and resting his head on Murray's bony shins while Nick stood watch. The constant hiss and thump of the vent, coupled with the beeping heart monitor, got under Nick's skin and made him want to jump out the window. But he just sat there, holding Murray's hand and whispering about good times to come, when they were all home again.

In the morning, Huntley came back and tried turning the vent down again. The results were the same, and for the first time, his confidence seemed shaken. But he told them it was still early, not even two whole days yet, and they were switching to a stronger antibiotic. That was when Nick began to wonder if Cody had been right. Maybe Murray didn't want to wake up.

"No," Cody said, when he broached the subject. "He's weak and tired, but he's not a quitter. I was wrong about that. He just needs time."

"Time, or something else. What if what he really needs is something we can't give him?"

"Something like what?"

"I don't know. Love? Passion?"

"I don't think he's lying there in a medically induced coma hoping for that," Cody said dryly.

"Well, he's gotta be hoping for something. What do _you_ think it is?"

Cody was still thinking when the door opened and a nurse came in with a stranger. There were orders not to let anyone except family in without checking with Nick first, but he hadn't heard anything about this visitor, and it put him immediately on guard. The stranger was dressed in a long black trench coat and black fedora, his shaggy black hair obscuring his face and tangling in the rims of his Buddy Holly glasses.

"Who…?" Nick said, and the nurse cut him off cheerfully.

"Dr. Bozinsky's uncle has come to visit. Maybe family will cheer him up," she said and began to check the monitors, taking Murray's pulse and blood pressure while the three men stood and looked at each other. Nick and Cody had never met any of Murray's uncles, but they were certain this man wasn't one of them. Only their desire to know who he really was kept them quiet until the nurse finished up and left.

As soon as the nurse was gone, the stranger took off his glasses and smiled grimly at them. Nick sat down limply, all the strength gone out of his legs. It wasn't possible, it wasn't even sane, but he'd stared down the barrel of that gaze too often to be mistaken now.

"Quinlan," Cody whispered. "How in Jesus' name…?"

"Doesn't matter," he said crisply, pulling Nick out of the chair and claiming it for himself. "How's he doing?"

"Not so good," Nick said, his voice stronger than his body, which Cody was currently holding up.

"Why not? You said you'd take care of him."

"And you said you were dead," Cody snapped. "Give us a minute to acclimate, will you?"

"Acclimate to what? I'm not dead, I never was. But I _will_ be if you breathe a word of this to anyone. That's the whole story in a nutshell." He was holding Murray's hand, stroking his flushed, damp face, and never looked at them as he spoke.

"How'd you pass for his uncle?" Nick asked, sinking into another chair.

"Had a fake ID made, genius. You think you two are the only ones who know how to do that?"

"No, but how—how'd you even know? Where the hell have you even_ been_?" Nick was angry now, and the anger gave him strength. "He's been breaking his heart over you for months and you've been alive all along?"

"Don't you start yelling in here, Ryder. Kid needs to think good thoughts while he's sleeping. And never mind where I've been. You don't need to know."

"Well, this is a fine time to come back," Cody said. "When he doesn't even know you're here."

"He'll know. Listen, you two, because I'm only gonna say it once. He's known for a while now that I was alive. I've even seen him. Where do you think he was when he said he was going to Montana last month? Do they even _have_ computers up in cow country?

"He was supposed to meet me yesterday and he didn't show. I knew he wouldn't blow me off for no good reason, so I started checking around and found out he was here. They were saying he was dying, so I had a passport made in the name of Michael Bozinsky and I got on a plane. Now you better stop asking questions and start calling me Uncle Mike, or by sundown none of our lives will be worth shit."

"Why'd you come if it's that dangerous?" Nick asked, no longer angry or accusing.

"Why?" he repeated, finally looking at them. "Because I love him, dimwit. And where's his ring?"

"What?"

"His gold ring. I know he has it, he was wearing it the last time I saw him."

"Oh, yeah," Nick said, shaking his head to clear the confusion. "They wouldn't let him wear it in here. Liability issues or something. I have it."

"With you?" he asked sternly, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

"Yeah, right here." Nick dug in his pocket for a few seconds and came up with a handful of change and assorted bolts and washers. The ring lay among them, bright gold in the midst of dull silver, and he handed it over. Quinlan took it without comment and slipped it onto Murray's finger. His left hand, Nick couldn't help noticing. Not his right, where he'd always worn it before. That was when he saw that Quinlan was wearing one, too.

"They're gonna tell you to take it off. They don't want to risk a lawsuit if it gets stolen."

"If someone watches him every minute, it won't _get_ stolen. And you know how upset he'll be if it's not there when he wakes up."

They didn't, but then they hadn't seen him without it for even a minute since the day he put it on. That probably meant something. It probably actually meant a lot.

"So are you guys married or something?" Nick asked, unable to resist.

"Don't be stupid," Quinlan said simply, and went back to petting Murray, whispering words they couldn't hear, coaxing him subtly back to the land of the living. After a long time, Nick spoke again.

"We were afraid he might give up because of you. When he kept talking about getting on the plane, even though he was so sick, we thought he might be suicidal. But he knew you were alive all along."

"Not all along, just since March."

Nick and Cody looked at each other, mentally slapping their foreheads.

"Of course," Cody said. "The note was from _you_."

"I just couldn't give him up," he said quietly, more emotion on his face than they had ever seen before. "And I'm coming back one of these days. Don't make any mistake about that. I'm not gonna be dead forever."

"If he knew that—why did he risk his life trying to…"

"Trying to what? Make his flight?" He looked from Nick to Cody with something like his old disgust. "Wouldn't you? If you two only had three days together every month or so? You'd get on that plane if it cost you a lung, and you know it."

"He's got us there, Nick. Leave him alone, huh? I mean, if anyone can talk Murray into coming back, it'll be him."

"This kid's not going anywhere. He's just worn out and needs his sleep. If you two had done your jobs and looked after him like you promised—"

"No way," Nick said sharply. "His heart was broken; we couldn't fix that. We doped him and fed him and did what we could. The rest is up to you."

"Then stop bothering us. Go get some coffee or something."

Neither wanted to leave, but there was no good argument. It wasn't as if Quinlan couldn't be trusted, or that Murray wouldn't want to be alone with him. It was, after all, how he'd apparently been planning to spend the weekend.

"Sure," Cody said, gripping Nick's arm. "We'll go down to the cafeteria for a while and let you visit. If the doctor comes in, let him know where we are, okay?"

"Right. But before you go, who's in charge here? Is his real family around?"

"No. They're all out of the country and we haven't been able to get word to them. If we do talk to someone, we'll be sure to let them know a friend is using Mike's name so they don't accidentally blow your cover. In the meantime, Nick's making the medical decisions."

"More like rubber stamping them," Nick snorted. "That doctor's doing all the work."

"Good. They know best. You just keep stamping." He turned back to Murray and didn't move until the door closed behind them.

"I sure hope you can hear me, kid. I know they don't want you waking up yet, but I'm gonna see what I can do to change their minds. You need to help me out, if you can. You need to be strong and start breathing for me." He leaned down and kissed Murray's damp forehead softly.

For a month he'd been looking forward to this weekend. Ever since Murray walked out of the hotel room in Cabo, to be exact. He never imagined spending it like this, repeating Murray's experience watching him suffer in a SoCal hospital bed. But it wasn't exactly the same. Murray would get well and resume his life.

"I'm not gonna leave you like this, kid, but you need to start fighting. I don't have a lot of time, and I need to see you try. You can't just lay there and wait to get well, you need to fight for it. I'll help, but you gotta start fighting now."

There was no response, but Quinlan didn't mind. He was sure he was being heard. He just kept talking and touching, bathing the fevered skin with a soft, cool cloth, and waiting.

Nick and Cody came back with coffee, and Quinlan drank it. They brought him lunch, and he ate a little. They slept in their chairs and he kept watch, not yet needing to sleep himself.

When Dr. Huntley came in at two and dialed down the vent, Murray was able to breathe on his own. He removed the tube and hooked up nasal prongs for a little extra support, while changing the sedation orders so that Murray could start to wake.

"We'll leave the restraints on for just a little while longer, though," he explained when 'Uncle Mike' asked. "He'll be groggy and confused at first, and we don't want him to pull his lines if he gets agitated."

No one liked it, but they didn't complain. Not when he was making so much progress. But when the doctor was gone, Cody turned to Quinlan and said the words that the older man least wanted to hear.

"The doctor's right. If you're here when he wakes, and he's already confused, he's apt to say some things he shouldn't. Maybe it would be best if you disappeared until he's really with it again."

"Maybe. Or maybe he already knows I'm here, in which case you don't want him waking up looking for me, either."

"You think he could know?" Nick asked, genuinely curious.

"I spent twenty-four hours in that condition, and I knew everything that went on. Most people do. Now, you can throw me out if you want, you've got the power, and I won't fight you in front of him. But I don't think it's what he needs."

Nick and Cody looked at each other, seeking answers that neither really had, and fell back on the standard they always measured by. Each knew he would want the other there under any circumstances, no matter what the risks, and they couldn't deny Murray the same. His love was no less valid than theirs, even if they didn't understand it.

"All right," Nick said quietly. "But we'll have to watch him close and make sure he gets the plot before he starts talking. And I don't need to tell you, that's not always easy."

"I can handle him," he said confidently, and got to prove it two hours later when Murray finally opened his eyes.

***

He squinted at the blurry, shaggy haired figure by his bed and tried to think. It was hot and he was distinctly uncomfortable. His back hurt, there were needles in his arm, and his head was achy and far away. Everything was far away, except the black clad man beside him. The hand that held his was familiar, but he couldn't relate it to this person he didn't know. Then he saw the man's eyes, ice blue and surrounded by worry lines and crow's feet. Crow's feet, he thought. What a funny phrase. Why not chicken feet, or mouse feet, or—why was he thinking about animal feet, anyway?

"Lieutenant?" he whispered, horrified by the dry, cracked sound of his own voice.

"Shh," Quinlan breathed, pressing one hand to Murray's mouth. "It's me, kiddo. Your Uncle Mike. Remember me?"

The brown eyes were puzzled for a moment, and then widened in understanding.

"That's right, it's your Uncle Mike. How are you feeling, nephew?" He took his hand away, smiling his grim, Quinlan smile.

"Bad. What's—what happened? And why are you wearing that awful wig?"

"You have a kidney infection. And a touch of pneumonia, but it's mostly cleared up. And I'm in disguise, genius."

"How—why are you here?"

"You're sick, Murray. Where the hell else would I be? Your buddies are here, too. They just went out to get some coffee. There's some ice chips if you want them."

"Desperately," he sighed, and Quinlan's smile dimmed. He grabbed the cup that stood ready by the bed and fed Murray a small piece with his fingers, as Murray had fed it to him all those months ago. The soft, dry lips sucking at his fingers made his heart skip and his cock stir, but he told himself firmly that this was not the time.

"Better?"

"Yes. More, please."

He took several chips of ice, sucking and swallowing, and finally chewing the last few. By then his mind was working again.

"You must have thought I was dying to risk coming up here," he said matter-of-factly.

"That's what they were saying on TV," Quinlan confessed. "And I could hardly call and check. But you're gonna be okay now, understand? You're gonna be out of here real soon."

"What about you? When you are going back?"

"Not until you're well. I don't know how I'll work it out, and frankly, I don't care."

"We'll get me out of here as fast as possible," Murray said simply, "and sneak you onto the boat. You can stay as long as you want. Can I have more ice? I'm so thirsty."

"They're trying to give your kidneys a rest. You're lucky you're not on dialysis right now."

"Yes, lucky me," he murmured, biting Quinlan's finger as he closed his eyes. "I'm so tired. Be here when I wake up?"

"I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
